


Be a Good Guitar and You Could Go Far

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8099359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Bellamy has a bad encounter with a girl buying violin strings, which is annoying, but then she comes back for a ukulele and it just gets weirder.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Steve has been yelling at me to write this fic for him for a while, so I am finally doing it. Now he can bug me about something else.

The first time Clarke comes in, Bellamy is not at his best.

Part of the problem is that he is not really naturally gifted at customer service. Which doesn't mean he's _bad_ at it; he's too tuned in to the importance of money to ever do anything that might threaten his employment. 

But it's been a long day, and he's had to put up with people exactly like Clarke non-stop. Or so he assumes. He works at a music chain across from a music college, which seemed like a great gig until he realized that the school was full of students who only came to his store if they were desperate. Because chain stores are the devil and always carry inferior products, or something. Which, honestly, he is not a music expert. It's probably true. They sell a lot of decent, affordable equipment and instruments that are probably not what professional performers would use if they had their way.

On the other hand, if you need a string, you need a string, and Bellamy would be _happy_ if he were in that situation and he could go to another store and find what he needed, even as a stop-gap measure. But customers always love taking their frustrations out on him, and he's usually pretty good at letting them. Or at least not snapping back. Because, again, he needs this job.

The girl who will eventually be Clarke to him comes in ten minutes before closing, looking like every rich, angry college student he has ever dealt with, and snaps, "Strings?"

"Yeah, you're going to have to be more specific," he says. "A lot of instruments need strings. From what I've heard, they aren't just interchangeable."

"And they aren't all together?"

He rubs his face. "Sure, I don't have to be more helpful. Just walk toward a wall and you'll eventually find some. Have fun with that. Sounds great. Enjoy."

Her jaw ticks. "Thanks. Appreciated."

He stews about it as she wanders around the store, because--yes, under ordinary circumstances, he would have responded to something like _strings_ with, "Of course, what kind were you looking for?" or something equally perky.

On the other hand, if she really wanted his help, she could have just told him what she was looking for.

After five minutes, he says, "Seriously, what kind of strings?" 

She glances over at him, gives him a bright smile. "Oh, I found them. I'm just browsing. There's no problem with that, right? It's not like you're closing soon or anything. I need a lot of stuff. Long shopping list."

"Of course," he says, and he's pretty sure it's clear that the words are being forced out so hard it hurts. "Let me know if you need anything."

In her (very grudging) defense, she doesn't actually stay _past_ closing; she comes up at 8:58 and buys a pack of violin strings and a pick.

"Thanks for your help!" she says, giving him a $20.

"Any time," he says. And then, just to try to gain back some of the upper hand, "Have a good night."

"You too," she says, and he makes himself wait a full minute before he locks the door behind her and closes up.

He's irate about it for the next few days, even though as interactions go, it wasn't actually a terrible one. He's had much worse customers. But it's the kind of bad that didn't have to go that way, and that bugs him. He's supposed to be polite, and if she complained--well, he still wasn't actually _rude_ , just blunt. He wouldn't get fired.

But it annoys him all the same.

Just as he's forgetting about the whole thing, replacing it with worse, more irksome experiences, the girl returns. It's earlier in the day, so he's less generally irritated, but just the sight of her puts him on high alert. She's at least dressed more casually this time, looking more like a student than a young professional. She's got a _Steven Universe_ t-shirt, even. 

She's cute, which is probably another reason the whole thing is bothering him. Not that--he likes to pretend he's good with cute girls, but he knows he's not, in absolute terms. He's good with flirting in very specific circumstances, but outside of those very specific circumstances, he tends to be a mess. And then he's annoyed with himself for his lack of smoothness, because he knows he _can_ be charming, when all the stars align and he's prepared for it.

Given all that, he's planning to just let her be, but she comes up to the counter, smiles--polite, apparently sincere--and says, "Hi, I was hoping you could help me find something?"

Something cold lodges in the pit of his stomach. She doesn't recognize him. Which--okay, it's not surprising. But it also kind of sucks, remembering how invisible he is to these people. He's been stressing about her for two days, and she doesn't even realize they've met. Or if she does, she doesn't know the guy she remembers is the same guy she's looking at now.

On the other hand, this is a second chance to make a first impression, right? So that's something.

"Of course," he says, with a smile of his own. "How can I help?"

"Ukulele. I want to learn, so I need an instrument and maybe a book, if you're got one?"

"We do." He wets his lips, caught off-guard. She really seems like the type who wouldn't get this stuff _here_. "It's, uh, over this way. I don't know much about ukulele, but I know our most popular books and I have some recommendations for instruments."

"That would be great, thanks."

She follows him over to the ukulele section, listens as he tells her what he knows about the different models. Her face is bright with interest, and it makes him feel itchy, wondering which one of the two girls is the real one. Not that they can't coexist in the same person, but--it's weird. Customers who are bad the first time don't tend to suddenly get polite with no explanation.

Maybe she does recognize him. Maybe she feels guilty. But it's still _weird_.

"Like I said, I'm not really an expert, I just work here," he admits. "So take my advice with a grain of salt."

"You're not my only source, don't worry. I did a little research online for brands, but I like to test them out in person. And I figured I might as well get the intro book while I was at it."

"Those I feel better about."

"Yeah?"

"I know which series are popular and which ones I get returned because they're useless and people want their money back."

"Does that happen a lot?"

"Just with a couple titles. That I'll give you," he says, and she flashes him a grin. 

"Then I'm in your hands."

They have a perfectly civil and constructive conversation about the different ukes, and the girl takes his suggestions with good grace and even tells him a little about why she's selecting the instrument she is, what makes her think it's the best choice. It's kind of educational.

So she was just having a bad night before. He was too. It stings a little that she forgot him, but just because it reminds him that he's invisible to people, most of the time. The next time she comes back--if she comes back--it might be the same thing again, a blank slate to be rewritten based on both their moods.

She pays with credit card, so he gets her name--Clarke Griffin--and feels a little silly for making a note of it, but it's a notable name. He's never met a girl named Clarke before.

And, as it turns out, not only does she start coming in regularly, but she remembers him. She chats with him about new strings and ukulele instruction books, even learns his name, when she hears Maya calling for him.

There's nothing special about her, except that she's a regular, and she's cute, and she likes to tell him about her ukulele progress, which is more friendliness than he's used to from most of the college kids. After a month, he's stopped bracing himself for her to be an asshole again, and started bracing himself for her to stop showing up.

It's a legitimate concern, but it's the opposite of what happens.

When he's not working at the music store, Bellamy works at a coffee shop, which, being both independently owned and kind of pretentious, is much more popular with the college kids than his other job. There are still plenty of assholes, but it's also where he tends to amass, for lack of a better word, _fans_. It feels a little weird, putting it in those terms, but it's true. He's sure they don't come in _just_ to flirt with him, but they like flirting with him, and he tends to flirt back easily and absently. It's one of the times he's good at flirting, because he's not invested in it at all, and it gets him tips.

So, of course, he's flirting with a cute freshman the first time Clarke comes in there, and then it's both difficult and embarrassing to be doing his normal thing. For the first time in weeks, he hopes she doesn't recognize him.

Of course, she catches his eye and smiles, and he trips over his own tongue taking the girl's order.

It's not his finest moment.

"So, you're just everywhere, huh?" Clarke asks, when she gets to the front of the line.

"For very limited definitions of everywhere, yeah. I work two jobs. But if those are the only two places you go, then, yeah, I'm everywhere. What can I get you?"

Her grin widens. "Weren't you being charming to other people?"

"Sorry, did you want charm? Or coffee?"

"Coffee. Mostly I'm killing time before open mic night, though."

It shouldn't be a surprise, but it's actually more alarming than her being here in the first place. It's a nice night, and people enjoy it, but--he doesn't know what to expect from Clarke.

He never knows what to expect from Clarke.

"Poet?" he offers, and she laughs.

"I don't know if you know this, but I'm working on my ukulele."

"I didn't think you were that good yet," he says without thinking, but to his relief, she laughs.

"Thanks for your support. Can I just get my coffee? And maybe a little bit of charm?"

"You have to give me an actual order for the coffee."

"Large vanilla latte?"

"Sure. Anything else?"

"Still waiting on the charm."

"Don't hold your breath."

"Just don't make fun of me when I totally blow it up there?" she asks, with just a hint of anxiety in her voice. It's enough to sober him up, make him stand up straighter. He does _like_ her. Way too much to flirt without self-consciousness.

"You'll be fine," he says. "Trust me. I see a lot of acts, and--there's no way you're going to be the worst."

Her laugh is soft, and he knows he's heard her laugh before, but--not like that. It would be nice, if he could get her to do it more. "Very reassuring."

"Reassurance isn't really my forte. Sorry. I'm more of a cynical realism guy. But the coffee's on me. For your big premiere."

Her face pales. "You really don't have to, it's--"

"Too late, done." He offers a smile. "Good luck, Clarke."

It's the first time he's ever acknowledged he knows her name, which he only realizes from her expression, confusion turning into delight. He feels his own neck heating up, embarrassed, but all she says is, "There was the charm. Thanks, Bellamy."

Open mic night usually isn't his favorite thing. He wasn't lying to Clarke; he really doesn't think she can possibly be the worst that the talent has to offer. For every decent poet and songwriter, there's another two who never got past the lyrical level of the Batman song from the Lego movie. Clarke at least seems to have some self-awareness, and he gets kind of a perfectionist vibe off her. He's pretty sure she wouldn't be here, if she sucked.

Which is why he's a little bit optimistic now. If nothing else, there's going to be one act he enjoys. Even if she's somehow terrible, she's still Clarke. And he still basically likes her.

She takes the stage an hour in, during a lull in business. She looks soft and shy, which he doesn't expect from her, and the lights on the makeshift stage are turning her hair golden and stunning. She strums the uke a few times, experimental, and then leans forward to introduce herself.

"Hi, I'm Clarke," she says, voice soft too. "I'm a junior at Berklee. I usually play violin, but--I've been trying out ukulele recently. It's still new, so go easy on me, okay?"

There's scattered applause, and Bellamy joins in, actually whoops when someone else does it first. She looks in his direction, under her eyelashes, and he's not sure she can see him, but he smiles anyway.

"So far I'm just learning _Steven Universe_ songs from Youtube," she adds. "So I hope you guys are into that."

Her voice is basically as he would have expected, husky and a little soft, just enough to make him really pay attention. To make it feel like there's something he might be missing.

He's only seen a couple episodes of the show, with his sister, when she's stealing his couch, which is enough to know her acoustic covers really are doing something different. He's not generally a fan of the mopey, melancholy vibe, but--there's just enough of an edge of hope in hers that he can't help liking it.

He whoops again when she's done, cheers as loudly as anyone and then louder, and she definitely catches him, smile wide on her face.

"Not terrible?"

"No. You're really good."

She leans on the counter, smile still wide. "Is it weird I was more nervous about that than any of my other concerts? Like, ever?"

"You normally play violin?" he asks.

"Yeah. For as long as I can remember."

"I guess I'd be nervous about singing. Do you perform alone on violin?"

"Not in a while. Usually I'm in groups. Quartets or whatever." She drums her fingers on the table. "Can I overshare?"

"If you want to, yeah. It's not like there's anyone in line right now. Just don't expect me to be sympathetic or anything."

"Oh no, I would never," she teases.

"Did you want another drink first? You have to pay for this one."

"Lemonade?"

"Sure."

It's not actually that hard to talk during open mic night, if you do it quietly, so Clarke comes over to hang out by the register while he makes the drink.

"I'm not a prodigy," she tells him.

"I didn't think you were. Most people aren't."

"I know. But my mom wanted me to be. When I started liking music, she was--if I was going to play music, she thought it should be my life. And I'm not complaining. I like it. But it's really nice to just be actually having fun with it, you know? Instead of trying to be something I'm not."

"And what you're not is a prodigy?"

Her mouth tugs up. "I knew I didn't want to be a doctor, so my mom and I settled on classical musician."

It's weird to feel safe enough to ask, "So, on a scale from one to ten, how rich are you?"

"Nine."

"Doesn't that mean you don't have to do anything?"

"That would reflect poorly on my mother. And, honestly, I'd be so bored."

That, at least he gets, even if he finds wealth basically incomprehensible. He could figure out what to do if he was working _less_ , but not if he wasn't working at all.

"Yeah, okay. So, why ukulele?"

She ducks her head, and he thinks she's blushing. "I wanted to apologize."

"For what?"

"I don't know if you remember, but--I met you before that. And you were about to close and I was a dick because I'd been having a bad day."

It's about the last explanation he expected, and he gawks at her. "So you just--bought a ukulele. Instead of, I don't know, saying you were sorry." He actually finds himself laughing. "Christ. I didn't think you even remembered. You were so polite, I figured you just didn't know who I was."

She laughs too. "I guess that works too." 

"Why'd you want me to forgive you?" he can't help asking. "It's not like I wasn't a dick."

"I don't like--I don't know. If people don't like me, I want it to be because I was actually trying to be an asshole and they deserved it. I was just in a bad mood, and I took it out on you. That bugged me."

"Yeah, okay, but--I cannot stress enough how fucking weird it is that you decided to buy a ukulele instead of just apologizing."

"That's not what happened," she protests, but she's still smiling.

"Uh huh. That sounds like exactly what happened. You told me that was what happened."

"Okay, but--I was already thinking about picking up the ukulele. I just figured I'd get it from you, while I was at it." She pauses, but then admits. "The first day I tried, you weren't there, so I left and came back."

"This is the shittiest plan I've ever heard. I don't know if I should be flattered or offended."

"Why would you be offended?"

He grins. "So, I should be flattered?"

She flushes, and his grin widens. "I didn't say that. Just if those are the only two options, you should be flattered. Why would you even be offended? What's offensive?"

"How bad the plan was. If the person you're trying to apologize to doesn't even know you're doing it--"

"But it worked, right? You like me now."

It's his turn to flush. "Less than I would have if you just apologized," he lies, and he's pretty sure she knows it's a lie. An apology would have been--weird. Appreciated, in a limited sense, but--weird. He wouldn't have known where to go from an apology. "I did think you just didn't notice me the first time we met and didn't realize I was the same guy."

"Oh, no. I noticed you." She grins. "I was being a dick to you on purpose. I always remember that."

"Yeah, well. I was having a shitty day too. And it's not like either of us did anything that bad."

"Exactly. Which is why we're friends now."

"Lucky me," he says, but his smile keeps the dry tone from really landing. And then, in spite of himself, "Friends? Really?"

"Sure," says Clarke. "Why not?"

As far as he's concerned, there are a thousand reasons why not, and he thinks of all of them over the next few days. They don't actually know each other. They never see each other outside of his work. As far as he knows, they have nothing in common. Clarke is in college and has a presumably bright future ahead of her, being in an orchestra, which is one of those dreams he couldn't imagine affording. He's honestly glad O never showed any musical talent, because he never could have made it work with their budget.

He knows he's doing pretty well, these days, but he also knows it's a relative thing. He was doing so badly before that working two jobs and saving up for community college is a huge improvement, and he's still waiting for it to fall apart. And it should maybe worry him, that the idea of being friends with Clarke sets off all those same alarm bells in his head. He barely even knows her, but she feels like a good thing just waiting for him to fuck it up.

Most people would probably just call it a crush, though.

Clarke shows up at the music store three days after the open mic night, and it's his first time seeing her since. She's got her ukulele and seems perfectly content to just hang out, picking out notes until she has the bare bones of what she informs him is a song from _Bob's Burgers_.

"I don't really watch TV," he admits.

"I like to have it on in the background while I study."

"I do audiobooks," he says. "I don't know where to start with trying to get DVDs from the library."

Clarke perks up. "What kinds of books do you like?"

"Uh, I'll read pretty much anything. I like history, so I do a lot of non-fiction. Fantasy, but I'm kind of picky about that." She cocks her head, and he huffs. "Look, Tolkien is cool, okay? I like what he did. But he did a good job, and I wish there was more fantasy since _Lord of the Rings_ that was trying to do something other than the same old generic quasi-European bullshit."

Clarke is grinning. "Cool, I can work with that."

"Work with what for what?"

"Book and TV recommendations, obviously. If you want them."

"Do you not have other friends? Is that what's happening?"

She shrugs. "I can't want more?"

"Not like this. I'm just some random guy."

She seems to be doing calculations in her head. "A hot guy," she finally says, like it's a dare.

His laugh is so harsh it hurts his throat, this surprised, maybe slightly bitter bark of disbelief. "Jesus. How hard up are you?"

Her flush makes him feel a little guilty, but it's really so weird. "How hard up do I have to be? I like you. It doesn't have to be complicated." 

"It has to be more complicated than this," he protests. "Seriously, rich, beautiful girls don't just wander into my store, feel bad for picking a fight with me, and then decide they think I'm cute and want to keep me. That's going beyond unrealistic wish fulfillment. This is like--you're going to steal my organs."

To his mild annoyance, she's starting to grin. "So, me hitting on you is _unrealistically awesome_?"

"That's not what I said."

"Not in so many words. I was more efficient about it." She leans on the counter, still grinning. "Come on. Doesn't the whole thing make more sense if I was mildly irritated, decided to snap at you, and then realized you were kind of hot and I regretted screwing it up?"

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, and then settles on, "It's not like I made a good impression."

"I like grumpy."

"This is honestly the weirdest way anyone has ever hit on me."

"The open mic night was honestly an accident. But, yeah. I'm maybe not very good at hitting on people."

"You don't say."

"You're not helping, either," she says, but she still seems pretty confident. "You're not giving me anything."

"Unrealistically awesome." He wets his lips. "You at least got me all the way to flattered."

"I try." She finally ducks her head, confidence failing her. "Usually other people make the first move for me. I'm not really used to being the one expressing interest."

"You don't know anything about me. We might not have anything in common."

"No, we might not." She smiles again. "Do you want to find out?"

As it turns out, they both like arguing about politics, even when they largely agree, they're both bisexual, and they both prefer Coke to Pepsi. Once he starts watching them, he likes _Bob's Burgers_ and _Steven Universe_ as much as she does, and she likes a lot of his favorite books already,picks up the ones she doesn't so she can give them a try.

They agree that there are a lot of pretentious college students in the area, and many of the acts for open mic night suck.

They agree that they really like each other, and he figures that's plenty to go on, for a start. She took a leap of faith on less. He doesn't think he's going to regret returning the favor.


End file.
